Blame It On The Rain
by Jassy Smiley
Summary: Songfic. Lily screwed things up. They broke it off. Now he's back, with a shiny badge that says 'HB' and a shinier new girl. She could blame James. She could blame herself. But she's more likely to Blame It On that stupid bloody Rain. THREESHOT! xxLJ
1. Blame It On The Rain

_**Hey Sweethearts !**_

_**This is a thank you to all my lovely readers of Petals & Prongs, for supporting me and staying with me,  
>and to anyone who comes across this for taking the time to click on it!<strong>_

_**xxLJ**_

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I am neither He Is We nor JK Rowling, and therefore do not own very much of this story at all.<br>****Playlist: Blame It On The Rain - He Is We.**

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><p><strong>~.'*'.'*'.~ Blame It On The Rain ~.'*'.'*'.~<strong>  
><em>A Jily Fanfiction<em>  
><em>by Jassy Smiley<em>

It was raining.

_Of course it's raining_. Lily Evans shook herself sternly, brushing her fingers through the long mane of red hair she'd grown down past her shoulders and catching water droplets with delicate fingers. She fixed the collar on her mackintosh unnecessarily, tucking her cream-coloured scarf firmly under the beige material. When had it not rained on September 1st?

Everyone in the Manchester region knew that the very first day of autumn practically begged for buckets of pouring rain. The skies grew slightly darker the day before, as though aching with the pain of holding all the water vapour in. Lily knew the science of the event. She knew the chances.

_You got me caught_

_In all this mess_

_I guess_

_We can blame it on the rain_

Still, it unnerved her. She wondered idly if he remembered the significance of the weather, quickly and decisively coming to the conclusion that he probably didn't. As a general rule, one didn't remember the significance of things that very obviously weren't significant.

She smiled wryly; an attempt to mask the pang she felt at her own thought. She fumbled clumsily with her handbag, pulling out her ticket with more fuss than was needed. Straightening, Lily hitched her bag over her shoulder and grasped the handle of her trunk, moving towards the familiarly bright red steam engine. She ignored him, even as he pulled away from that petite blonde to glance at her as she walked past.

_Tell me,_

_Does she look at you the way I do?_

_Try to understand the words you say,_

_And the way you move?_

She knew it would happen, sooner or later. He was _James_ bloody _Potter_ for Merlin's sakes. She wasn't dim. She knew it would be easy for him to forget her; to write her off. She knew she'd always been some sort of game to him. She should've always known. Some part of her had.

It didn't make it any easier when she saw him.

It didn't make it hurt any less when she saw her.

It didn't stop her from regretting anything and everything a thousand times more…

But of all bloody people; did it have to be _her_?

_Does she get the same big rush?_

_When you go in for a hug and your cheeks brush?_

Unfortunately, a small part of her knew, the fact that it _was_ her made Lily's heart ache even more. And the same part knew that the ache in her heart wasn't just her wounded pride. It wasn't the humiliation of being dumped, even if it was by James Bloody Potter. It wasn't the cold indifference of her peers, or the knowledge that it could all have been easily prevented. It wasn't, indeed, even the fact that she was entirely at fault.

_Tell me –_

_Am I crazy?_

_Or is this more_

_Than a crush?_

It was the fact that everything she was feeling now pointed to the very feeling that had been the cause of their breakup.

If that made any sort of sense.

Irony was cruel.

With a sigh, she lifted her trunk onto the train and slipped through door, swiftly moving to the Prefect's Compartments. It was early, but no one would question her being there. Lily was a generally organised and well-kept person; she often arrived five to ten minutes before the Heads themselves prior to that year. With a faint smile, she twisted the small, gold badge on her chest. _Head Girl_. It had been a pleasant surprise, though most of her friends swore that it had been entirely expected.

She sighed, curling her legs up against her and hugging her knees to her chest. Lily leant against the wall, watching the raindrops on the window slide against the pane, creating tear-tracks along the glass. Closing her eyes, she allowed flashes of that day to come back to her.

_The way his hair fell when it was wet; messier than ever and sticking up at odd angles. Plastered to his face here and there, making him look like he had a beard and sideburns. The way his glasses fogged up with the humidity of his breath; he never wore them straight on his nose (not that his nose itself was at all straight), but allowed them to slip almost all the way down. A single drop of water had managed to slip behind the glass, posing as a teardrop as it slid from the metal frame. The way her clothes were soaked through after standing outside for so long, with him. Her previously white jumper had been deemed irreparable by any means; the mud-and-water stains were unrelenting to either magical or muggle methods._

_The way her lips felt afterward; tingling and a little damp. And that airy feeling that something was missing; that they should have been attached to something else._

Lily ignored the soft knock, the sliding of the compartment door as someone entered. She didn't care to look up; the Prefects knew that she daydreamed sometimes. It was a (bad) habit, but one that influenced her day-to-day life. It wasn't until she heard someone's throat clear that she glanced up; irritated. The scowl melted off her face as she took in the hazel eyes and the raven hair.

And the badge that claimed 'HB'.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He offered her a small half-smile, chewing on his bottom lip when she didn't respond. Lily tucked a lock of hair behind her ear awkwardly, looking back down at her feet and trying to remember how to breathe. It had been easy just a second ago. Something about pulling in air through her mouth or nose? Nope, all gone.

As the Prefects from various houses filed in, each giving the Head Boy a surprised glance, Lily managed to suck in a gasp or two, regulating her inhalation a little. She forced herself to calm down, putting on a smile and fighting to keep it there as _she_ walked in. She chatted nonsensically to Remus about her holidays, babbling about the weather to stem the flow of emotion that erupted from her.

_I catch my breath_

_The one you took_

_The moment _

_You entered the room_

_She_ walked up to him, her long legs swinging gracefully. Her blonde hair was swept up into a ponytail; fringe curled perfectly. The light dusting of gold powder on her eyelids completed the flawless image, highlighting her sparkling blue eyes. The golden tan of her legs and arms gave the impression of a sun-kissed angel; her white-and-gold dress and cloak setting off the look. The flash of a smile from her painted lips flew in Lily's direction; the redhead glanced down at her Mary Janes, flushing.

She missed the worried glance Remus shot her, studying the pattern of stitches that ran along the sides of her shoes. Black, almost imperceptible. Running stitch. She was absolutely not thinking about the two of _them_ snogging. _Oh Godric._

_My heart it breaks_

_At the thought_

_Of her_

_Holding you_

Lily placed her hands in her lap, shrugging off her coat. She smoothed down her black pleated skirt, wrinkling her nose at its length. She'd meant to go to Gladrags' in the holidays to get a longer one, but she just hadn't had the time. She'd worn stockings to compensate, but she had a sneaking suspicion they'd just made it worse; she'd been unable to find black ones and had, instead, settled on tan. With a sigh, Lily rose to speak, resisting the urge to tug down the dratted skirt at the hem.

She addressed the Prefects formally, gazing directly in front of her at all times. She deliberately avoided the left corner; James seemed perfectly fine with letting her carry on. How in the name of Godric Gryffindor he'd even managed to get the position was beyond her. She'd pegged Remus as the Head type since Third Year.

Remus was much less immature. Less arrogant. Less incorrigible. Less…

Snoggable.

_Don't you dare_.

Oh Merlin.

But she was on her own now. She'd made that desire perfectly clear to everyone around her; solitude was familiar: comforting in an unusual (and, albeit, slightly morbid) way. Of course, she still had friends. She just didn't want to risk the chances of a relationship.

_Maybe I'm alone in this_

_But I find peace in solitude knowing_

_If we had just one more kiss the whole room_

_Would be glowing_

"Solitude is peaceful," Lily murmured to herself firmly as James finally stood to address the prefects. "Peaceful and familiar."

_We'd be glowing._

"Can't risk," she whispered, shaking off the feeling of mutiny against her own will. "Not worth it."

Not worth what, though?

Not worth the gossip?

Not worth the dirty looks or the suggestive sniggers?

Not worth her pride?

Lily sunk lower in her seat, resting her head back against the window with a soft _thud_. She was proud, she knew. She couldn't handle the looks on her peers' faces when they'd hear. She was mortified at the thought of the harassment she'd have to endure. She felt sick to her very stomach as the image of a nameless Slytherin's smirk pushed its way to the foreground of her mind, uninvited.

But most of all, Lily couldn't handle rejection.

He'd moved on. He was dating that (slaggy cow of a) Madeleine Appleby. They'd been caught snogging on the platform apparently.

She couldn't handle what she knew would be pity in his eyes as he shook his head apologetically, resting a complacent hand on her shoulder and murmuring to her in a soft, diffident tone. He'd tell her, with an expression of fleeting remorse, that it was simply too late, and she'd had her chance.

She couldn't handle what she knew would be the tortured scepticism in his eyes of liquid hazel-gold, if she were to admit it.

The thing she'd denied to the point that her flat disavowals had destroyed their relationship.

The fact she thought she'd never admit.

She loved him.

Lily Evangeline Evans was in love with James Potter.

Too bad he had a girlfriend.

_It's the rain,_ she sighed, tracing a tear-track with her forefinger absently as she moped mournfully. _Blame it all on the rain._

_Does she look at you the way I do?  
>Try to understand the words you say,<br>And the way you move?  
>Does she get the same big rush,<br>When you go in for a hug and your cheeks brush?  
>Tell me;<br>Am I crazy?  
>Or is this more than a crush?<em>

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><p><strong><em>To Sequel? <em>****_Or not to Sequel?_**

**_That is the question. _****_Review/PM me your opinion!_**

**_xxLJ_**


	2. Raindrops

_**Hey, darlings !**_

_**Can I just say... **__**Woah.  
>The response to 'Blame It On The Rain' was sort of almost scary. I woke up the next morning and had more than twelve reviews. In less than nine hours. You guys are honestly amazing. :O :O I don't know how you did it!<strong>_

_**I've decided to turn this into a ficlet. I love you all so much, but I do have to make it known: There will be no more than three chapters. I'm already smack in the middle of a Jily novel and I don't want to disapoint you guys with terribly-written stuff. I'd feel awful. So three chapters it is; one from Lily's POV, one from James, and then (hopefully) a resolution. All three are songfics, all three are to do with rain. Sort of.**_

_**This chapter probably isn't as good as the last one; the song is quite short, and you guys already know the foundations. Hopefully it sets the scene for the final part, though, and the song is incredibly sweet.**_

_**Thank you all sooo much for all your reviews. The response was encouraging and overwhelming; I wouldn't have kept going if not for the positivity.**_

_**Until next time,  
>xxLJ<strong>_

_**PS In response to zatl's review, there is more backstory in this chap. Hopefully it's a little clearer?  
>PSS SO SORRY FOR THE COLOSSAL AN**_

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I am LJ so I can't be JK.<br>Playlist: Raindrops - Regina Spektor**

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><p><strong>~.'*'.'*'.'*'.~ Raindrops ~.'*'.'*'.'*'.~<strong>  
><em>A Jily Sequel of Sorts<em>  
><em>by Jassy Smiley<em>

It was raining.

_Of course it is,_ James thought bitterly. _It's September 1__st_. The Autumn chill bit at the four Marauders as they stood on the platform, James in particular. He'd just surrendered his warmest cloak to the girl beside him; one of the Prefects, Moony told him. Maureen or something. No, Madeleine_._ She'd been looking awfully cold in that tiny dress of hers; it had been the least he could do.

James sighed, leaning his head on the wall as he attempted to remember what he was to say.

He'd never been a man of words.

He'd been up half of the night going over his words until he couldn't rid himself of them, but as soon as he woke, they were gone. He scrambled mentally for scraps of what he'd come up with; the results sounded disjointed and feeble, even to his own ears.

He loved Lily. They belonged together.

That was pure and simple.

But for him to put it into words seemed damn near impossible.

_You don't know,  
>But that's okay.<br>You might find me,  
>Anyway.<em>

He'd managed to quill a semi-acceptable plea as a product of his midnight insomnia for the previous week. James hadn't slept through the night since the End of Year Feast; he tossed and turned endlessly, uncomfortable and anxious. He kept replaying that last day in his head, wondering what it is he could have told her, anything he could've done to make her stay.

Late at night, he remembered.

It had been raining, of course. Rain seemed to be a common motif throughout the duration of their relationship – _and now lack thereof_, he admitted desolately. It seemed that whenever the two of them quarrelled, the rain set the mood. Little teardrops, falling from the clouds.

The first day of First Year, when they were drenched getting across the lake and he offered her his cloak (which she pointed refused). She scowled at him at the Feast and snapped at him in the Common Room, finally stalking off later in the evening.

The particularly bad argument in Third Year, when he'd inadvertently set her hair on fire during Potions – he had always been so terrible at it. Utterly mortified, he'd tried to cover up his embarrassment with nonchalance and arrogance, costing him twenty house points and a week of being ignored.

That night in Fifth Year, after their OWLs, it had rained so heavily that wondered whether what his mother said was true after all, and then wondered what could cause the angels to weep so mournfully.

And then there was the day at the end of Sixth Year where everything was right.

After years of fighting and screaming, and crying in the rain, he had her in his arms.

Truth be told, James really didn't know how it'd happened. One moment it had been a typically awful argument – the satisfaction of lashing out made the both of them careless with their words – and the next, her hands were in his hair and his were on her waist. She'd clutched at the soaking locks like he was her lifeline.

_Don't you know that I,  
>Belong arm-in-arm with you,<br>Baby?_

And yet she didn't love him.

Sirius had near kicked him out – of his own house, no less; the idea should've been laughable – what with the amount of moping he'd done. James couldn't fathom the situation; how could he love her so much that it hurt, and she not at all? His home, once a haven from the growing evils of the outside world, was bleak and utterly miserable. Godric's Hollow was empty and soulless.

Padfoot and Moony had shaken their heads, redoubling their efforts to cheer up their mate. In their defence, it worked for a while. The Marauders were the best friends James had ever had, and they often knew him better than he knew himself. They allowed him space, and made sure that he was recovering from the break-up.

Everything they'd done had fallen to utter shit the second he saw her.

The lifeless tone to his surroundings had returned, and he didn't bother trying to fight it. Glancing at her, he felt a knot of anxiety form in the pit of his stomach, curling and twisting uncomfortably. Her hair stood out against the dreary station and his heart threatened to either sink or soar.

She glanced at him, scowled, and walked onto the train with another fleeting look.

_In a town,  
>That's cold, and grey,<br>We will have a sunny day,_

Stumped, James almost fell backwards. He almost felt sick; was this what all those girly muggle novels were on about then? The type of infatuation so powerful that he literally felt nauseous with it? He wondered if she felt it too.

She had to believe him. He had to make her listen.

Shaking off the feelings of doubt, he brushed the droplets off of his button-down shirt and made to follow the Head Girl.

Feeling a tug on his sleeve, James turned in surprise to face the blonde girl – Madeleine – as she flushed delicately. She'd folded up his cloak into a neat bundle and was holding it out to him shyly, glancing downward at her feet. James noticed her highly impractical shoes critically, wondering why on Earth she'd wear them on a day like this.

"Merci beaucoup," she smiled gratefully at him as he took the bundle, leaning over to kiss first his left cheek, then his right. "You are very kind."

With a start, James realised he knew her; they'd met at one of the Pureblood Galas his parents loathed attending over the summer. Appleby, her surname was. She came from a line of very proper Pureblood Families; her mother was of the Fleur de Lis clan in north France. Many of the French families still used the kissing of both cheeks as a way of 'polite' (or, politically correct) greeting. He didn't know the girl particularly well – she was a Ravenclaw, and a year younger, so he'd not spent much time with her – but he'd heard from Sirius that she had quite a reputation.

He smiled at her distractedly, resisting the urge to check his watch. "Would you like to keep it with you?" he asked courteously. "You look awfully cold."

He sighed, hands shaking with anticipation. He needed to find Lily. He needed her.

_Don't you know that I,  
>Belong arm-in-arm with you,<br>Baby?_

Madeleine shook her head. "I should be alright, merci," she said, waving her hand. "We shall be in the Prefect's compartments soon anyway; it is usually quite warm in there."

James nodded, folding up his cloak and slipping it into his trunk. He'd barely taken a step when he felt slender fingers clutching his shirt for the second time. Turning back in irritation, he raised an eyebrow at Appleby.

"I shall see you soon, oui?" she asked innocently, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. James sighed heavily.

"Yes, you will," he said impatiently.

With a nod, Madeleine leaned forward and kissed him on both cheeks once again, before giving him a light peck on the mouth. He frowned at her disapprovingly; no one still kept up that custom, no matter how 'polite' they claimed to be.

Sighing at the tenacity of some of the elders, James practically wrenched his hand free of the French girl, racing to fling his trunk into an empty compartment. Without making sure it was steady – and hearing the resulting crash with virtual nonchalance – he sped off, realising quickly that he had no idea of the location of the Prefect's Compartment.

_I do not know,  
>Where does it go?<br>When it goes._

He searched for it frantically, nipping down various corridors of compartments he never even knew existed. It seemed both unlikely and disappointing that neither he nor Sirius had thought to go exploring on the Hogwarts Express in all of their seven years there. Resolving to make sure they did, James continued on his search with little success.

He wondered idly the extent of Lily's affection for him. He knew she cared about him; she was a terrible liar and he was rather excellent at reading people. But she was sending mixed signals; he could never tell whether she loved him or loathed him. Whether she was merely interested, or whether he was as dear to her as she was to him.

James sighed, an overwhelming sense of nostalgia washing over him. He couldn't get his hopes up. Lily didn't love him; she'd made that, of all things, perfectly clear. He just had to hope she'd missed him even a little.

_Suddenly, though,  
>Everything's going slow and,<br>I miss you so._

He caught a glimpse of red hair and steadied himself, breathing slowly and deliberately. She was alone, lost in thought. He was probably the last person she wanted to see – he knew she'd caught a glimpse of him on the platform. Lily probably loathed him.

A swarm of guilt bubbled up inside him for wanting to bring up the whole situation again, wanting to drag these issues up to the surface. She'd probably moved on. He'd inadvertently put pressure on her, telling her what he did. He never meant to. He never meant to hurt her – with any of it.

Couldn't she see that what he'd said was true.

He _loved_ her.

So much that it hurt, in a bizarre and unusual way. He was embarrassed and uncomfortable all the time when he was around her because of everything going on in his head and stupid bodily functions that had completely bypassed his brain and ignored anything he tried to stop. Yet when he was away from her, he was distracted beyond irritancy; all he could think about was the exact shade of her eyes, the way her nose curved slightly, the beach-goddess waves her hair fell in when she'd been swimming in the lake.

Godric damn it, he'd change it if he could. Truth be told, it was irritating beyond belief, loving someone who loathed him. But he couldn't change it. All he could do was wish she felt the same.

_Round each corner,  
>There's a chance,<br>People searching,  
>Glance to glance.<em>

James breathed in one last time, before rounding the corner and gently sliding the compartment door across. He crossed the threshold delicately, placing his foot down with the air of a parent stepping into their child's room late at night, trying not to wake them. In retrospect, he supposed it was much of a muchness; he certainly didn't want to disturb her. He didn't know whether this was because he was feeling rather considerate, or because he didn't want to shatter the illusion of peace her demeanour was undertaking.

Around him, the hustle and bustle of September First continued on; First Years raced down corridors anxiously, wondering where they were meant to be and what they were meant to do. Seventh Years made rude gestures and tripped them up.

_Moving 'bout real fast,  
>Like insects and fish,<br>When they're scared._

James paused slightly, thinking the situation through. That was another thing they didn't tell you in those stupid romance novels (so he'd stolen one off Alice – sue him) if you thought girls overthought things, just try being male. He could just go in and ask her about her summer, but that could sound needy and pathetic. He could smile at her and act cool, but that could come across as cocky, arrogant and stuck up. He could be nonchalant, but that might be seen through. He could just go in and sit down without saying anything but she might read it as rude, immature and ignorant.

He rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers, pausing as he heard the faint sound of singing.

Rolling his eyes, James pressed his ear against the wall. Apparently, directly adjacent to the Prefects' Cabin was that of the small (but rather insistent) school choir. They seemed to be practising for whichever school event they were performing at next. Their repertoire of choice was the classic 1969 (Flitwick thought he was being so _modern_; using songs that came from the last decade and all) _'Raindrops Falling On My Head'_. In all truth, James had gone to see the muggle film that had featured it – he thought it was rather pointless.

_And they sing the same old song,  
>Though it's been so very long,<br>They sing 'Raindrops Falling On My Head'.  
>But that doesn't mean that I am dead.<em>

Taking one last breath, he stepped in fully and cleared his throat. Lily glanced up briefly, frowned, and then looked back down.

James sighed.

He'd messed it all up.

Everything.

He loved her.

_I do not know,  
>Where does it go?<br>When it goes?_

He thought she'd loved him. Throughout their relationship, there had been flickers of _something_ in her emerald eyes, growing stronger and more pronounced each time. James could've sworn that the very day before he'd gone and screwed everything up, the swirl of emotion had lasted so much longer than its usual scintilla spark.

As more people filled into the tiny compartment, James felt the atmosphere thicken. He could hear each tick of the second hand on his gold, muggle-made watch; the relentless clicks matched the beats of his heart. Expressions of expectance were flashed at him from all angles, and he wondered whether the increased space between each click was a result of his nerves concerning his new (and, he lamented, rather undeserved) position of authority, or if he really was the pansy Padfoot thought him to be.

A fleeting glance toward the window proved the latter theory correct.

He sighed heavily, not caring in the slightest.

_Suddenly, though,  
>Everything's going slow and<br>I miss you so._

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><p><strong><em>R&amp;R Beautiful People! Hope the sequel was decent!<em>**

**_Also; to SiriuslyMe3 and any others who went and read 'Petals & Prongs' and anything else of mine, it's not stalkerish at all. Otherwise it would be creepy seeing as the amount of familiar readers made my day :3_**


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